


Don't Do Anything Stupid

by CoffeeDrip



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Character Death, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeDrip/pseuds/CoffeeDrip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Castiel, when I come for you at your time of death - and I will reap each of you Winchesters in time - I can assure you that you will return to Dean. You will share Heaven together, as soul mates do. Unless you wish to reclaim your angelic grace and rejoin the host of Heaven, which you will be welcome to do at the time your human soul expires.”  </p><p>Dean dies a very human death. Castiel must cope. </p><p>Angst. Just angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Do Anything Stupid

**Author's Note:**

> I am not sure how I personally feel about the idea of Castiel being unable to live without Dean but I needed to write some angst and this is what came out. 
> 
> I have never written a Cas-centric fic so I apologize if he is OOC.

Castiel felt lost. Dean Winchester lay dead, while doctors in white coats and nurses in surgical scrubs milling about, patting him on the shoulder, whispering “we did all we could.”

For the first time in years, the former angel felt anger at his decision to give up heaven for the hunter. If only he had had some small shred of grace, he could have saved Dean himself. Instead, he was given into the hand of medical professionals and Castiel could do nothing but watch the man he loved slip away from him with tear-filled eyes. 

He fell to his knees then, when the last nurse left the room, pulling closed the door to the room and giving Castiel some privacy. 

“No… Dean…. please, don’t leave me,” he whispered, his forehead pressed against the other man’s cooling hand. “I chose humanity for you.” He was quiet then for a minute, unable to do anything except listen to the noise of the hospital around him, before lifting his head and raising his eyes toward the ceiling, toward the sky. 

“Father, why have you left me?…” A sob tore through him at that moment, and he faltered. He didn’t know if God was listening, or present. The question had not plagued him in many years. He had been happy, existing side-by-side with Dean, living a semi-retired domestic life, and questions of God and angels had failed to preoccupy him in the face of vampires, bills, and what to make for dinner each night.

Now, he wondered if the man who had saved him so many times in the past was listening at all as he continued his bitter prayer. 

“Why didn’t you just let me die, each of those other times, if you were just going to leave me broken and mortal on this Earth without Dean Winchester? Why not just let me go? Was I truly nothing more to you than a soldier, to use until I was no longer needed? Why give me life only to take his? I have no purpose here, not like I did in Heaven…” 

He looked again at Dean, who was still, the still only accomplished by the dead, no rise of the chest, no pulse of blood or movement of eyes. 

“Fuck, Dean.” He murmured. “Fuck you, you selfish bastard. I still need you. Maybe Sam has found a life outside of you but you are my life, Dean…” 

He knew there was no reason to blame Dean, not when he had died such a normal, tragic human death. Who could have known that that pickup truck was going to blow through a stop sign and hit the Impala broadside on the driver’s door at that intersection, an intersection that they had driven through so many times before? It was not at all Dean’s fault, but he didn’t know who else to curse at, besides his father and Dean himself. Because surely Dean Winchester should have been stronger, should have survived after all he had been through in his long, long life.

“Castiel,” came a soft voice behind him. He unravelled his fingers from where he had clutched them deep into his hair, pulling at his scalp in his grief, and looked over his shoulder. 

“Death.” He said flatly, turning now to face the pale, skeletal man and climbing to his feet. “What do you want?”

“Well, originally I came for Dean. But he’s being stubborn, as usual. Says he can’t leave you like… this,” Death waved his hand in front of Castiel, indicating his current broken state, tracks from his tears on his cheeks, his hair ruffled, eyes bruised underneath and red with grief. 

“He already has,” Castiel replied. Tears were still trailing their way down his face, but his sobs had mostly subsided. His head throbbed, and his legs tingled as the blood returned to them after so long in the crouched position, but he had regained a bit of composure.

“Physically, yes. But he’s as stubborn as ever even without his corporeal form,” Death sighed, looking at Dean Winchester’s deceased body with something akin to affection in his dark eyes. “And no matter what, the man’s ability to love has always bordered on self destructive. Maybe even moreso for you than for that oversized sibling of his. At least since that whole fiasco with Gadreel.” 

“And?” prompted Castiel, who was growing impatient with Death’s ability to skirt the issue. Death gave him a withering glare, and then spoke flatly.

“And, Castiel, I promised him that I would speak with you. He won’t go unless I do, and although I don’t generally give in to demands from simple humans and I’d be more than happy to leave him here to become one of those creatures you hunt, God really wants Dean safely tucked away in Heaven before someone resurrects him again.” 

Cas opened his mouth to argue and Death shook his head. 

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t do something stupid, Castiel,” the Horseman waved his cane in Castiel’s direction. “You’ve been around this Winchester longer than most and their particular brand of stupidity tends to rub off.” 

The former angel huffed, and Death looked over at Dean’s corpse again for a minute before he continued speaking.

“He wants me to tell you that he doesn’t want you to do anything stupid either. No demon deals, no suicide, no overly courageous solo hunts. Are you listening, Castiel? Dean doesn’t think you are, since you aren’t looking at me.” 

“Yes, I am listening,” Cas snapped back, looking up from the floor, where he had become engrossed in seeing his teardrops hit the floor tiles. 

“No need for that, now, Mr. Winchester. Most people do not get to speak with their loved ones after they have passed from this mortal plane,” Death scolded. “Dean is merely trying to warn you against the unfortunate reality that is a Winchester’s reaction to the death of someone dear to them. He says he’ll be there when you join him, so don’t rush. He says he’s ready this time.”

Castiel swallowed hard. His throat burned, torn raw from his cries when he watched as Dean was extracted only after a great deal of work by the first responders from the car he loved so dearly, trapped inside as precious minutes ticked by and Castiel could do nothing but huddle in a shock blanket and allow the paramedics to check him over.

The fact that he was completely unharmed except for a broken arm and some bruises only irked the dark-haired man more. 

“He wonders if you might be willing to find a suitable resting spot for that ridiculous car of his, as well,” Death added. “And don’t burn him until Sam has made it from California.” 

“Sam. I haven’t told him yet.” Castiel realized, breaking through his fog. In his misery he had forgotten that he wasn’t the only one who had loved, and now lost, Dean Winchester. Part of him wanted to remain selfish, keep the pain to himself because he was grieving and he was alone and surely he was suffering most. Sam had his new wife, their newborn child, his co-workers and friends in Long Beach. Who did Castiel have besides Dean? They had never socialized much, outside of Dean’s regular clients and the odd person Castiel encountered at the library. They had discussed adopting children but decided against it. And they had opted to remain in Kansas, even though Sam had nagged them to come out to the west coast. 

In the end, Castiel had no one. 

“Sam will help you through your grief, Castiel.” Death advised him. “Call him.” 

“I… I don’t even know where my cell phone is,” he admitted. “I haven’t seen it since the accident.” He looked at his shaking hands, the left one encased in a cast, his ring finger bare as they had cut off his wedding band to remove it when the appendage had swollen grotesquely. With a thought, he walked over to the bed, and slipped Dean’s ring off of his finger. He couldn’t put it on his own hand just yet - the swelling was still present - but he could wear it when he was healed. Dean had no more use for it. 

“Castiel.” Death said, watching him move about the room with dark eyes. “Stand still for a moment.” When the other man failed to heed his request, he thumped his cane against the floor. “Castiel.” He repeated, more sharply this time. 

Cas stopped, and looked at him. 

“Castiel, when I come for you at your time of death - and I will reap each of you Winchesters in time - I can assure you that you will return to Dean. You will share Heaven together, as soul mates do. Unless you wish to reclaim your angelic grace and rejoin the host of Heaven, which you will be welcome to do at the time your human soul expires.” 

He stared at Death with wide eyes, and his tears began anew. 

“I… was not aware that I would have that option…” he whispered. 

“I thought you might not be,” Death responded. “And I do hope you have another 40 years to think about what you will do when the time comes. But for now, you must call Sam.” 

“No. I mean, yes, I need to call Sam. But no, I do not need to think about what I will do, because I know I want to be with Dean. I have felt more at home with him than I ever did among my brothers and sisters,” Castiel concluded. 

“I always told your Father that that would be your choice,” Death remarked, as he reached into his jacket pocket and presented a slim phone to the grieving widower. “Now, call Sam.” 

Cas’ hand shook as he took it from the other man’s hand, and he struggled to punch in Sam’s own phone number. He answered after two rings. 

“Hello?” Sam questioned at the other end of the line, likely unfamiliar with the number that had appeared on his telephone screen. 

“Sam. It’s Castiel. Dean is dead.”


End file.
